Bruises
by TheNobodyofaSOLDIER
Summary: [Trainer!Levi x Abused!Reader]


[Warning: addresses abusive relationships]

( watch?v=sHXa85…

With an aggravated growl, you burrowed your leg into the heavy bag with everything you had. The slam sent vibrations of pain through your shin but the strike sent it ramming into the wall with a thud. You were the only one left in the studio, so you could yell, growl, make as much noise as you so chose. As it swung back at you, you reeled back your leg, performing the same round kick into your target. Again, sharp pain jolted through the used limb but the rush you felt overrode any discomfort. Instead, you continued on with a series of punches and strikes with your palm. The cool adrenaline filled you like fuel, allowing to sending more hits with the greatest of force. The more contact you made, the harder effect it left on your tender skin. But, you swallowed hard and pushed.

One last punch, you thought. Winding back, directing all your attention to the indention in the bag, you fired. Unfortunately, the momentum of the punching bag collided with your knuckles, bending your wrist back with a loud crack.

"Ah-!" you jumped back with a yelp. "...Fuck."

With a sharp exhale, you cradled your hand, assessing the damage; bruised naturally, burns and scrapes. You twisted your wrist about, and you only felt the tendons strain on the left. Shaking your head, you hobbled over to the back room on the search for a first aid.

Not very long had you joined this self defense studio. Originally, you held no interested in any kind of fighting. Sure, you had your ways of relieving college stress, job stress, family anxieties and so on. What more did you possibly need?

That was until your ex-boyfriend hit you. You weren't fighting over anything in particular, nothing significant. But, long periods of suppressed emotions led you two into a heated argument which ended in a hard slap across your face. It shocked you. It horrified you, and the tears you shed pulled out desperate apologies from him. After you kissed and made up, you let it slide and proceeded on with your life. However, a seed of fear was implanted inside you.

Then, it happened again, but this time, it was a punch to your eye, which escalated to beats across your back, which lead to scratches on your arm. Truth be told, you never understood why you allowed it to go this far, why you stuck around for so long. But, at least you possessed the remaining sense to leave the guy and escape the hell hole he put you through. The fact that it took you so long disturbed you deeply. After hours and hundreds of dollars spent on therapy, and much support from your friends and loved ones, you finally worked your way back to your feet. You continued your education. You signed up for a job you liked. But, the memories haunted you, stuck to you like ticks on a dog. You could still feel his strong fist against your person, the stinging in your skin, the aching of every purple bruise imprinted in your skin.

You were used to bruises. You were used to the throbbing, twinges, stabs and soreness. But, at least these were different. These were a result of your hard work, your ever growing strength. These bruises you could at least be proud of.

Crossing your legs on the floor, you set the first aid kit right at the center. As you pressed your wounded wrist to your chest, you fumbled with box. Each time, the clasp slipped from your fingers. As it fell from you one more time, you groaned rather loudly.

"Oi, keep it down in there, shithead," a low voice caught you off guard.

Standing at the doorway, Levi Ackerman, dressed in nothing but shorts, finger gloves and a towel slung over his shoulder, crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. He scrutinized your visage almost disapprovingly.

"Don't worry about me," you mumbled. "Get back to what you were doing," finally, you snapped open the kit.

With a scoff, the short man plopped in front of you. You noticed the sweat glistening along his skin in the fluorescent light.

"Levi-"

He took your hand in his, silencing you immediately. You sucked in your bottom as he rotated the joint.

You met Levi shortly before you graduated. He was hired as a personal trainer at the gym affiliated with your college. He had a reputation for being nothing more than a thug in uniform with a foul attitude and a mouth to go with that. But, you ran into him each time you visited the track to escape your worries. It started with a one sentence exchange, which grew to two, again multiplying until you visited long hours into the night. Although he never directly said it, he enjoyed your company. He liked the fact that you actually respected his ability to think rather than his fitness. As you grew closer, you shared your experiences with him, your ex-boyfriend, the way he treated. He then informed you of other facilities at which he worked, one being a self-defense studio.

"Learn to beat the shit out of anyone that even thinks of treating you like that," he said.

So, here you were, staying longer than any of the other members there. The exhilaration you felt when bringing your partner to his knees had yet to be rivaled. You stuck with it, gradually moving forward, growing in strength outwardly and inwardly. But, even better, something you often forget being so wrapped up in your life, training and your ocean of thoughts, Levi remained at your side every step of the way.

Still, with your hand in his grasp, he took out the tape bandage.

"Levi, you don't have to do this," you half said to yourself.

"It's not sprained, but it needs patching up," he ripped of the needed amount and started wrapping. "What the fuck were you doing in there? Don't you know when to stop, idiot?"

You pursed your lips. "I had a bad day."

"Doesn't mean you should fuck yourself up either," he tightened the wrap, checking its security. "There, that should do it."

After pulling yourself to your feet, you replied,

"Thanks, Levi."

But, before you could return, he touched your shoulder, forcing you to look into his pale eyes. You only stared back and pressed your dry lips into a thin line.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

Almost reflexively, tears burned the corners of your eyes. A suffocating urge to grip cry gripped your chest.

"What more is there to say?" you hissed. "It's the same shit, same stupid memories."

You jerked from him and returned to your punching bag. Hammer fists thwacked against the leather, the tremors sending it into the wall. But, as you came in for a punch, the injury in your wrist inflamed.

"Gah-! What the fuck-!"

You stepped back, your exhausted legs nearly giving way. But, you heard a thud when your head hit something hard. Muscular arms caught you by the torso.

"[Name]," his voice was firm yet strangely soothing. "Calm down."

"No! Damn it!" you struggled. "I can still fight-!"

He held you tight. "[Name], calm down."

As you continued to squirm, your energy slowly dwindled away before you finally fell limp in his arms. You hated this sensation, this heaviness in your muscles. You saw yourself as weak and helpless, something you were sick of.

To your surprise, Levi brought you to the floor, still keeping one arm around you. Your back pressed up against his chest, and your head hung.

Calloused fingers touched the back of your head.

"[Name,]" he whispered. "You have nothing to fight here. You're safe."

Tears soaked your already moist face, yet your throat tightened to the point that all sound caught in that constriction. Your head fell in his lap, swollen eyes locking with his. Despite his blank expression, a soft hand came to the side of your face. A thumb gently brushed away the tears. Closing your eyes and inhaling his musky scent, you let the droplets fall. He was here, surrounding you in his warmth. He was hear to protect you.

You could allow yourself a moment of weakness just this once.

For a few silent minutes, you cried. It wasn't a loud cry, but it was enough to relieve yourself of those horrid emotions. Levi gently cradled your head in his lap, drying away those tears. He simply waited and continued his strokes along your cheeks.

Although you never once saw it, his heart twisted at your pain each and every time. It killed him to see you tortured by your demons. He tilted his head. His stomach churned at the sight of your bruises, as they triggered terrifying mental concoctions of you at the mercy of some monster, cornering you, breaking you, stealing away your peace of mind and even your will to live. Oh, the things he would do to the bastard responsible for that. For now, he would only focus on you, longing to kiss away all your pain and make you forget every memory that caused you any suffering.

Instead he hid it all, and it was starting to smother him.

When you finally regained some composure, you pulled yourself up and rubbed your eyes. He followed behind.

"Better?" he asked.

You swallowed and nodded. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from."

"Hm, don't apologize. It doesn't suit you."

With a weak smile, you replied,

"Thank you so much for doing that, Levi."

For a moment, he stared back at you. His eyes skimmed over your tussled hair, swollen, red eyes, your baggy, sweaty clothes, and the marks left behind from that day.

All a signs of your strength; all beautiful in his eyes.

Shifting awkwardly in his spot, Levi scratched the back of his head, wrinkling his nose.

"You better get home and rest," he told you. "Besides, you smell like shit."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Well, duh. You don't smell that great either. We've been working out, stupid."

He refused to glance up at you. "Can I walk you home?"

"Sure, don't you always?" you snickered, returning to the locker room with him. "You always said it was better to walk at night with someone."

"Tch, I know that," he mumbled, slipping a pair of sweatpants and jacket over him. "You seem to need this time, brat."

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you turned back to him. "I always feel safe at your side."

As those words reached his ears, Levi gazed back at you almost in shock. But, your smile remained.

"I'll wait for you at the door as you lock up," you said cheerfully.

He watched your every movement all the way to the entrance. With a sharp breath, as if he had been holding it the entire time, he turned back to his nightly routine of shutting down the studio.

One of these days, he would tell you. He would tell you of those tender feelings he directed towards you. He would tell you how stupid and adorable you looked after a work out. He would tell you how much he admired your courage in powering through all trial and error, never letting a weak moment bring you down completely.

Indeed, he would tell you one day that he would love every part of you-bruises and all.


End file.
